


Hannictober Drabbles

by Ericurrr



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bad Puns, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Fluff and Humor, Hannictober Challenge, Just an Alarming Number of Bad Puns, Literal Pumpkin Spice, M/M, Murder by Scythe, dogs in costumes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-03 04:41:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16319369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericurrr/pseuds/Ericurrr
Summary: Hannictober 2018 prompts. Tiny lil bite size drabbles. 100 words each. Mostly fluff and bad puns.Edit: Well. I lasted a couple weeks until I gave up on the 100 words. Brain dumping is so much easier than writing within such a strict cut off.





	1. Pumpkin Spice

“What are you up to in here?”

Will smelled something baking and secretly hoped for more fussy little cookies he had teased Hannibal about making last week. 

“I am roasting sugar pumpkins in autumnal spices, to be served with honeyed cream and crystalized ginger.”

“Autumnal spices, huh?” Will teased. “What kind of spices we talking?” 

“Cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, allspice, a bit of mace.”

“Hannibal, are you baking a pumpkin spice latte?” 

Hannibal frowned, whisking the heavy cream into soft peaks. “Absolutely not. There is nary a coffee bean in sight.” 

“You’re baking a pumpkin spice latte.”

“ _Autumnal_ spiced, thank you.”


	2. Apple picking

“Will.” Hannibal stared down at sawdust disguised as an apple. He raised an eyebrow and wrinkled his nose slightly in disgust. Rude.

“I thought we were done trying to hurt one another, mylimasis.” 

“What? You asked for apples, you got apples.” 

Hannibal dragged his fingernail through the waxy coating of the Red Delicious apple with a frown. “These are a mealy, flavorless imposter. I may as well use jarred applesauce.” 

“Would have bought that if the gas station had it.” 

“Gas station apples? That does explain the aura of despair weighing upon these.”

“Just murder the sad apples already, Hannibal.”


	3. Crossroads

“I know your penchant for metaphor, but a literal picnic at the crossroads?” Will popped the trunk to grab a blanket and a box of dried flowers and some sort of small mammal skull? Leave it to Hannibal to accessorize the great outdoors.

“Baptized in blood and fire, we descended into the icy depth of the underworld and found ourselves reborn in one another’s image.” Hannibal ran his thumb across the scar on Will’s cheek in reverence.

“Maybe we’re each other’s crossroad demon then. And our deals cancelled out in the plunge.”

“Then let us sup to spite the devil.”


	4. Dusk

Will watches the shadows grow long in the twilight hour, stretching and flexing toward the embrace of approaching night. Shadows and light, locked in an eternal dance, defined in opposition.

_Stupid Hannibal and his stupid metaphors._

He knows he should just turn on the damn reading light, but that would ruin the high-quality brood he’s invested in this evening.

Instead, he continues to read his book in spite of the fading light, eyes straining in defiance of the inevitable. Darkness slowly claims the page and seeps deep into the black corners of his mind, reinforcing their claim.

_I miss him._


	5. Costume party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ain't no party like a costumed dog party.

Will opened the door to the sight of 15 pounds of wiry Greek mythology wriggling in Hannibal’s arms. Cerberus squirmed in his grasp, torn between wanting to greet Will and trying to shake off the three-headed dog costume.

“Ceri! When did you find the time to grow two more heads? Is this his doing?” Will lavished love upon the little terrier that half fell, half leapt into his arms. 

“I merely whispered through the chrysalis.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Did you whisper your way right on to Amazon, Hades?” 

“Custom made.” Hannibal preened. “Only the best for our little hellhound.”


	6. Bonfire

“Alright firebug, back away from the conflagration while you still have eyebrows.” 

Hannibal tossed a final log onto the fire. Will admired the shadows dancing across Hannibal’s face, amplifying the Faustian aura of an already dangerous man.

“Never took you for a primal, Burning Man-type underneath those refined three-piece suits.” 

Hannibal spoke directly to the fire. “A barely leashed force of nature, capable of breathtaking savagery. I feed it in benefaction to you.”

“You want savagery? I got store-brand marshmallows and mass-produced chocolate. Grab those graham crackers and _no puns_ under penalty of having to eating another s’more.”

“Such wickedness.”


	7. Corn Maze

Will parked in front of a hay bale and cut the engine, headlights illuminating the shadows of the corn maze. “You’re so confident in your tracking ability, here’s your chance to prove it.” 

“Ten minutes to hide myself in that maze. You reach me in another ten, I let you sketch me in any pose. Even the risqué stuff.” Will waggles his eyebrows and offers a rakish grin. “You fail, we eat the fast food grease bomb of my choice.”

Hannibal’s entire being goes predatory and dark, and Will shivers in anticipation. 

“I’m going to devour you whole.”

“Happy hunting.”


	8. Scythe

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever killed someone with?” 

Hannibal set aside his book and removed his reading glasses. He met Will’s eyes and a fond look softened his features as he began to peruse the halls of his memory palace. 

“The scythe was memorable.”

A smirk twisted the corner of Will’s mouth. “Like the Grim Reaper, but harvesting organs instead of souls.” 

“The symbolism was satisfying, although I sacrificed most of the organs to the path of the scythe. When I was young I used to be given to such flights of drama.”

“Yeah, used to. Past tense. Definitely.”


	9. Haunting

“Do you hear that?” Will cocked his head upward to chase the scrabbling sound at the edges of his hearing. 

“Please refrain from savaging our fireplace. There are no fever raccoons in residence.” The slight twitch of his otherwise passive face belied Hannibal’s amusement. 

Will huffed a little laugh and plopped himself down to straddle Hannibal’s lap. “No fever raccoons. But you’re probably one of the most haunted men in existence, so I’m not ruling out ghosts.” Will rolled his hips forward with a slow grind. “Terribly boring business being a ghost. Wanna give ‘em a bit of a show?”


	10. Scarves

Hannibal wrapped the cashmere scarf around his neck, soft, warm, and just on the right side of too tight. Perhaps he could get Will to test that limit later. His eyes fluttered closed as he envisioned the scene. 

Will’s forearms taught with exertion, muscles hard in repose against the supple wool. Hannibal stroking himself as Will slowly tightened the scarf. Pulling until Hannibal’s gasps turned silent and darkness danced at the edges of his vision. The intensity of his orgasm cresting as Will released the scarf. Or not. He was willing to sacrifice himself (and fine cashmere) to find out.


	11. Trick or treat?

“Trick? Or treat?”

“No.”

“That’s not an option.”

Will sighed and rubbed his eyes in exasperation. “The line between trick and treat blurs with you.” 

“Trick? Or treat?

“I don’t want your tricky treats.” 

“Trick? Or treat?” 

“If I answer will you leave me alone?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Treat. Please. Let it be a treat.” 

Hannibal presented what looked like sugared discs. “ _Salmiak_ , the finest imported Scandinavian candy. Open up.”

Reluctantly, Will accepted the treat. “Ugh! Did you just poison me? What is that?”

“Salted black licorice.”

“What was the trick?” 

“Also _salmiak._ It’s an acquired taste.”

“You fucking chaos demon.”


	12. Candy corn

“Will, look! Pumpkins and bats and candy shaped like corns! Tiny little corns!” Hannibal tossed the bag of Harvest Mix back onto the fall-themed endcap. “I can do better with marzipan. Where are the almonds?”

Hannibal wandered down the baking aisle, leaving Will in shock, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. Did Hannibal “Molecular Gastronomy, How Quaint” Lecter just lose his shit over candy corn in a Walmart? Will shook his head and followed after his wonderful weirdo, who was clearly addled with a touch of cabin fever. If anyone could make “candy corn” edible it would be Hannibal Fucking Lecter.


	13. Misty morning

Hannibal breathed deep in the misty morning, savoring the scent of bright decay that characterized autumn. Brilliant colors belied the slow, wet decay of the countryside as it inched toward the lividity of winter. 

“You have one foot in the grave already,” the mist seemed to say with its caress. “With the privation of winter around the corner, what will you do to survive? Will you offer us blood to ensure the harvest?”

Hannibal smiled darkly. He would happily offer the free-range rude in tribute to those dark desires, ensuring the success of his personal harvest straight through the winter.


	14. Curses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing in 100 words is too hard. I give up. Enjoy the brain dump in its place.

“If that beast makes another attempt on my Berluti shoes again, I will not be responsible for what befalls him.” Hannibal glared at the wiry terrier that had taken up residence between Will's legs, seeking sanctuary from the wrath of one bad man with another. 

Cerberus rested his head on his paws but otherwise remained nonplussed. For all his bluster, Hannibal was really only dangerous when he went cold and quiet. Wrath was never the true tell of the savagery that lurked behind his well curated person suit. 

_“Alla facciaccia delli mortacci tua!”_ Hannibal hissed, pointing his shoe at the little dog.

“Did you just curse Ceri's dead ugly relatives?” 

“An assurance that he will be seeing their faces if I find another shoe with so much as a speck of dog drool on it.” Hannibal locked eyes with the little dog. “Your carcass will feed the strays in the plaza if I catch you at it again, beastling.” 

With that promise he turned and stalked out of the room, muttering Italian in low dulcet tones to his poor, abused shoes. Will let loose a laugh he had been suppressing and called Ceri into his lap with a pat. “Who’s my good boy? You are. Yes, you and your handsome family are going to be just fine. I won't let the scary man getcha. You just keep up the good work like Daddy taught you.” 

With a few more scratches and some doggie babble, Will walked toward the back door with Cerberus trotting close at his heels. “How do you feel about a little digging in the vegetable garden?”


	15. Fake Blood

“I never would have taken you for a Halloween fanatic. I mean 99% of the year it's veiled cannibalism puns and ostentatious eccentricity helping you hide in plain sight. This other one percent, is, it's a—wow this is a really alarming amount of fake blood.” 

Will reached down to dip his index finger in the viscous red splatter dying the taxidermy and dried flowers a deep red where it made contact. 

“How did you replicate an arterial spray? This is really good work.” 

Hannibal darted his head in from the kitchen. “I do have a degree of experience that lends itself well to maintaining authenticity.”

Will brought the bloodied finger up to his nose for a sniff and darted his tongue out for a quick taste. The taste of metal blossomed on his tongue. “Dammit, Hannibal! Whose blood did I just taste?”

Hannibal’s voice carried out from the kitchen. “You're tasting what's left of a very nosey deer hunter. Really, you should refrain from putting everything into your mouth like a toddler, darling. No telling where things have been.”


	16. Seance

“It feels like I'm talking to a shadow suspended in dust.” Will's voice was rough and dry, his throat clicking as he swallowed. “I see them dancing at the edges of my vision, wraiths and specters flitting at the shadows of consciousness.” 

Will rolled into his side, allowing Hannibal to envelop him in strong arms. He smoothing back the dark curls of Will's forehead and let his lips ghost over the skin before pressing into a kiss. 

“Who is haunting your dreams?” 

Will's response was muffled as he snuggled deeper into Hannibal's chest, reluctant to separate. “Abigail, Beverly, my fucking father. I'm sure you'll have plenty to say about that last one, doctor.”

Sure hands carded though his hair, massaging in gentle circles. “You are conjuring the memories of those you love in sleep. A seance to welcome those you can now only visit in dreams. The boundaries of life and death are no challenge for love.”


	17. Ouija Board

“Check out what I found up in the attic, it's a ouija board. Have you ever used one of these?” Will cleared their books of the coffee table and plopped down across from Hannibal to set up the board. 

Hannibal looked down over the top of his tablet to examine the weathered old board game, a little yellowed by time but the patina supported the purported supernatural. “A classic example of the unconscious mind striving to impart order through a series of yeses and noes.” 

“All the answers of the universe at your fingertips—for the low, low price of _your soul_.” Will's voice dropped low and ominous as he smirked up at Hannibal. “Come on, let's poke some spirits.”

“Spiritualism is a bastion for those who seek to reach beyond the here and now. I prefer full agency in orchestrating and interpreting the world around me.” 

Will snorted. “That sounds like a fancy way of saying you're an absolute control freak.” 

“The spirit realm is a fairy tale for adults, intended as a balm to soothe neuroses and anxiety about death.”

“Wow.” A sharp laugh punched through the air as Will gathered up the board and planchette. “Well, me and my neuroses will be outside if you need us. We're gonna ask some really, really embarrassing questions to the spirit realm too. And you’re haunted as shit so I’m going to figure out just how many ghosts are watching you masturbate every day, Dr. Lecter.”


	18. Demon

Petrichor and ozone saturated the air, the heady tang of clean wet dirt chasing the rain. The storm clouds still roiled above, as thunder rumbled and the air crackled with potential.

It looked like something out of a horror film, which Will would gladly have conceded except he was already well aware that even the most benign of activities in his life came with that qualification. Fear, which used to be his longest and most steadfast companion, was difficult to conjure when he was one of the most dangerous predators in the room. 

Still, the aesthetics of the storm were mesmerizing—god he was starting to sound like Hannibal. Beauty this. Aesthetics that. Even if the force and power of the storm was undeniably beautiful. Chain lightning crackled across the thunderheads. It arced and danced from cloud to cloud, rarely contacting the earth and illuminating the sky as if tearing the veil between worlds.

If ever a perfect moment existed for demons to bridge the journey to earth, this would be it. Will was in a mood, and existential ruminations on darkness tensed to go hand in hand with a good brood.

Not that he or Hannibal had need to summon and bind a demon. They sealed their own pact in blood and anointed it in the icy embrace of the Atlantic. Their love was a supernatural force, and no agent of heaven or hell would tear them apart. 

_Let them try. Demons bleed just like anything else._

With a wicked glint in his eyes Will retreated back into the confines of their lair to sit at the side of his demon consort.


	19. Boo

“Ugh. My head.” Will squeezed his eyes shut and moaned long and low into the couch cushions, letting the baleful vibration wash over him. “Why is a symphony of jack hammers pulsating a serenade in my brain?”

He turned his head and cracked an eye open to meet Hannibal's gaze. “How much do you remember, Will?” 

“Dinner? Lemony trout something or other.”

“Citrus-cured trout with Meyer lemon vinaigrette atop roasted pine nut couscous. It was superb.” 

Will raised his hand up to rub at his eyes, pressing inward in a futile attempt to stop the throbbing. “So how did trout land me face down on the couch awash in pain?” 

“Ah, so you have no memory of what came after. The delicate little cups of rosewater saffron ice cream, the sugared borage blossoms, the pistachio brittle.” 

“No. None of that sounds familiar. Delicious, but not familiar.” 

“I cannot speak to its flavor because it shattered across the floor when you jumped out from behind the kitchen door to yell, ‘Boo.’”

Will groaned. That did sound like something he would think was a funny several fingers deep into the whiskey. Leave it to him to think it was a good idea to test the startle reflexes of another serial killer.

“The tray connected with a resounding thud against your skull. The rest of you connected shortly thereafter on the dining room floor. I apologize. I am not usually so jumpy.” 

“And I'm not usually that stupid.” 

Will ignored the microexpression and slight tilt of Hannibal's head challenging the assertion and rolled over again with a grunt.


	20. First Frost

“How is it like 80 degrees in here when everything is frosted over outside?”

Will tossed his messenger bag on the ottoman and stripped out of his layers, slinging them haphazardly over furniture as he made his way over to the table where Hannibal was sketching.

“The fireplace is more than just decorative.” Hannibal's mouth quirked down in annoyance at Will's tornado of an entry. “As is the coat rack.” 

Will smirked at Hannibal's chastisement and moved around behind the chair to card his hands through ashen locks. “I'm aware of the coat rack, but I think you like me stripping down for you.”

Abandoning the tousled locks, Will lightly traced a high cut cheekbone. Hannibal skin was flushed with the warmth. Will was intent on replacing the heat of the fire with a flush of want and desire.

“Letting the layers lay where they drop.” 

His hands dipped lower to trace collar bones from shoulder to sternum before splaying his hands palm down and pressing firmly to pull Hannibal flush against him. 

“Getting messy,” Will whispered in Hannibal's ear before using his tongue to trace the shell of his ear. He captured the lobe between his teeth and tugged lightly, eliciting a throaty groan from his husband.

“You're entirely overdressed for this tropical climate. Let me help you out. Wouldn't want you to overheat after all.”


	21. Jack-o'-lantern

Hannibal squinted as he worked. Minute, controlled dips and thrusts of the scalpel tracing an intricate filigree pattern into the flesh of a plump white pumpkin.

“I don't know why you can't just create some creepy looking gourd family like a normal human.” Will dipped his hand into the bowl of pumpkin guts and gave it a squeeze, making undignified sound effects as he watched the seeds and stringy bits squelch through his hands. “You're supposed to stab the damn thing a couple times to make barely recognizable facial features. Then you wait for it to rot on the porch and leave behind a nasty liquid pumpkin puddle that even aggressive spraying with the hose doesn't eliminate.”

Hannibal ceased working and locked eyes with Will, his eyebrows furrowed in incredulity. He shook his head and resumed carving. “No. Just, no.”

“Hey, we can't all be Snooty McSnooterson with his Pinterest perfect crafts.”

“I will have you know that I am not _snooty_ ,” Hannibal wrapped his lips in exaggerated pronunciation of the word. “I am exacting. And this is Martha Stewart.”

“You're snooty.” Will dipped down to lightly bite Hannibal's nose. “But you're lucky cuz I like your snoot.”


	22. Bones

“Did you know that there are 206 bones in the human body?” Hannibal purred into Will’s ear, delighting at the slight shiver that coursed across his husband’s body, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Well doctor, would you like to make it 207?” 

Will barely suppressed a teasing smile as he rolled his hips to rut against the older man's thigh. 

Hannibal frowned. “You stole my line.”

“Now don't pout, Doctor Lecter. If you have a bone to pick, I think a lesson in gross anatomy is in order.” Will shimmied his hips, rubbing his hardening length against Hannibal.

“Incorrigible tease. You know wordplay is my weakness.”


	23. Zombies

"I don’t know why this is considered horror. They are just standing around talking to one another and there hasn’t been a single zombie this entire show.” Hannibal rose from the couch and retreated to the kitchen to refill their wine glasses.

“It’s as much about the psychological trauma man inflicts as it is about the zombies.” Will rolled his eyes and tried to explain the appeal of the show for the umpteenth time.

Hannibal returned with glasses in hand, sucked his teeth with a frown and shook his head. “I know a thing or two about inflicting psychological trauma and they’re doing a very poor job of it.” 

Will choked out a laugh and accepted his glass. “Yes, you ass. I’m well aware. But the goal isn’t to inflict trauma so much as it is to learn to live with the morally questionable actions they’ve committed as they learn to cooperate post-apocalypse.” 

“They are all doing a very poor job of both.” Hannibal sunk back down on the couch. “I still don’t understand how this is scary. The zombies shamble so slowly that they don’t even pose a threat to humanity.”

Will sighed and embraced the onset of the inevitable rant. He took a fortifying swig of the wine and paused the show. “Go ahead. Just get it all out. Let me hear it. Then you have to be quiet for the rest of the episode.” 

Hannibal set his wine down on the coffee table and turned to Will with a solemn look that just didn’t match the absurdity of the topic of discussion. 

“If head trauma is all that’s required to kill these things, then why not just split them like over ripe melons? A good tree branch is all you need, to say nothing of a sharp edge or something with a pointy end. And why all the guns? Ammunition is a finite resource and how would they even be able to hear any zombies coming when they are firing so many shots? Plus, nobody is wearing ear plugs. They are doing irreparable damage to their ear drums and alerting other zombies to their presence.” 

Hannibal took a deep breath before continuing the tirade. “How are the zombies even able to sense the presence of humans? By sound? Smell? They certainly cannot see. I haven’t seen a single one of them blink. Their eyes would be dried up raisins by now. _Why do all the zombies still have eyes in this, Will?_ ” 

Will moved to answer but was cut off by Hannibal. “I am not done. How are they even standing? Warm weather would have literally melted them by now, and none of them are mummified or saponified in a manner that would allow for continued structural integrity. You know exactly how quickly decomposition occurs in the summer. If I hadn't taken extraordinary measures to preserve some of my tableaus your team would have been greeting a pile of mush instead of art created on a human canvas. To think they would last more than a couple weeks before becoming literally weak in the knees as their joints rot is absurd."

Hannibal took a deep breath before plowing onward. "And what happens when they do shamble close enough to catch a very stupid, very slow human and consume them? They have no digestive system. Does it just rot within them until it swells up with bloat and explodes? Why isn’t this set in Canada where the cool weather would at least give the zombies a chance at continuing their reanimated quest for vengeance without losing their limbs to the slow melt of the American South?”

Hannibal huffed and retreated to the other side of the couch to nurse his wine, upset at the continued existence of the serial television show and Will’s insistence on watching it weekly.

“Are you done?” Will asked tentative, reaching to restart the program. “Ready to suspend your disbelief?” 

“Yes. You may resume the hour of shoddy science. I still maintain that the interminable amount of talking and these characters’ inability to compartmentalize and readjust their moral framework is more dangerous than anything zombie related.”

“Yes!” Will shouted with a laugh. “That’s the whole point of this show!” 

Hannibal huffed and shifted with a sulk. “Well. In that case. Please continue the moral anguish.” 

Will pressed play on the remote and scooted closer to Hannibal, curling up against his husband, who raised a reluctant arm. Will settled in and turned his head up with an earnest expression. “You would be a badass zombie hunter and would manipulate the shit out everyone in a post-apocalypse world. That and your medical knowledge would make you pretty much unstoppable. Plus if anyone pissed you off, you'd just eat them. You're way scarier than zombies."

Hannibal pressed a kiss to Will’s curls with a small smile. “Thank you, _mylimasis._ "


	24. Ghost Stories

“And on her deathbed she let her husband untie the green ribbon she wore every single day of her life and her: Head. Fell. Off.” Will drew out the last three words to heighten the drama. The flickering light cast by the fireplace lent an eerie glow as shadows danced across his face. 

Hannibal frowned slightly and shook his head in disbelief. “I don't think that counts as a ghost story. She was undead at best, not a specter.” 

Will scoffed and swirled his whiskey in contemplation. “That story haunted my dreams for a solid decade as a kid. I'm claiming an exception on the basis of secondary haunting effects.” 

“Seems more like a cautionary tale about boundaries and mutual respect between partners than a ghost story. You have to trust your partner not to untie the ribbon without consent.”

Will wrinkled his brow in concentration. “You know, you probably would have been a good therapist if you hadn't been such an asshole about,” he gestured widely with a dry chuckle. “You know, absolutely everything.” 

Hannibal embraced his well-deserved reputation with a single shrug of his shoulder. “I would let you untie my green ribbon.”

“Of course you would! You have boundary issues.” Will pointed in Hannibal's direction. “You would probably encourage me to untie that ribbon on a lark just to see if I would.” 

“Dying at your hands, your face imprinted on my mind as the last thing I see would be a high honor indeed.” 

“To bad for you. I'm done trying to literally kill you.” Will smirked, a mischievous twinkle behind his eyes. “My focus now is slaying you with bad puns and murdering you with this sweet D.” Will chopped at his crotch indelicately.

Hannibal choked on his wine and took a moment to recover his composure. He set his wine aside and leaning in to cup Will's chin and capture that wicked smirk in a kiss. “Let's see if we can't find a better way to occupy that pretty mouth of yours.” 

“The sweet D?” 

“The sweetest.”


	25. Spooky

Will thrashed helpless beneath the great horned beast, each movement driving claws deeper into his chest. Black ichor dripped from the beast's midnight jaws and it let out a deep purr of satisfaction at Will’s screams feeding the dreamscape. 

The terror began to recede as he slowly edged toward consciousness, the heat and pressure of the beast upon his chest still persisting as the line between dreams and waking life continued to blur. Persisting far longer than any dream should. 

Will cracked open his eyes to peer down at the weight upon his chest, making eye contact with a sleek black cat lazily kneading into his chest through the comforter. Will lay frozen, trying to make sense of what he saw before him.

_Oh god the encephalitis is back._

Will groaned and the cat jumped off his chest to strut across the bed and start grooming.

_At least these hallucinations traded in spooky for...cuddly?_

“Ah! I see you’ve met Anubis, _mylimasis_.” Hannibal walked over and scratched behind the little cat’s ear. 

“Oh thank god, I thought the hallucinations were back.” Will released the statement in a rush of relief and moved to sit up in the bed, still eying the cat warily. “Wait, when did we get a cat?”

“Anubis and I have been enjoying walks around the property for some time now. He decided to follow me home this morning and I didn’t have the heart to deny him.” 

“Where’s Cerberus? Terriers have a high prey drive. I don’t want anything to happen to the little cat if he goes after him.” Will rose from bed and put on a plush robe. As much as he hated to admit it, Hannibal’s insistence on the finer things was beginning to rub off on him. 

“Oh, I wouldn't worry about that.” Hannibal stated with a cryptic smile. “He’s nursing a scratched nose and pouting on his dog bed in the kitchen. Anubis can hold his own. Can’t you sweetling?” Hannibal preened at the little cat, who returned the affection by head butting against Hannibal’s leg, mimicking the feline grace and energy of his new ally.

Will groaned and started for the hallway. “Great. There’s two of you now. I suppose me and Ceri better team up to keep you little lions in check.”


	26. Hot Cider

“Please step away from the fire, _mylimasis._ I would hate to see you go up in flames if the fumes from that lighter fluid you call apple cider ignite.” Hannibal wrinkled his nose as if he could smell the alcohol wafting over from six feet away. He continued reading his book in front of the fire.

“Are you insulting the Graham family cider recipe?” Will’s cheeks were rosy and flushed, his limbs loose and smiles coming easy three cups deep into the family brew.

“Not at all. As a Graham special I’m sure it does a superb job doubling as an engine degreaser.” 

“I’ll degrease your engine.” Will snickered and threw himself into the chair opposite Hannibal. 

Looking over the top of his book, Hannibal offered an indulgent smile in Will’s direction. “I much prefer my engine greased if I’m interpreting anything in that metaphor correctly.” 

“I’ll interpret your metaphor correctly.” Will mocked in a sing song voice, smiling as Hannibal rolled his eyes at the juvenile barb. “Come on, Hannibabe. Have some cider. Makes socializing around a dry holiday roast tolerable. And when everything inevitably goes to shit at least you're drunk and that's a damn fine gift to yourself at the end of a shit day.” 

“I would really rather not tempt the fortitude of my digestive system, my dear.” Hannibal sighed and closed the book, marking his place, and all but resigning to an evening of greased lighting coursing through his veins.

“I didn’t want to play my trump card. But I did eat a fucking bird whole for you. If I can do that, you can stomach a glass of Graham liquid courage.”

Hannibal tented his hands together and leaned his lips against them as if considering the proposition. 

“Go get some cider and let's get weird.” He waggled his eyebrows as Hannibal sighed in defeat and rose to move to the kitchen. "Ortolan-level weird!"


	27. Witches Brew

“There is no force in heaven, hell, or the realm of man that will compel me to put that anywhere near my mouth, Will.” Hannibal spat Will’s name like a curse, radiating displeasure with his mouth twisted in a sneer. 

“Come on! It has chia seeds. That means it’s _healthy._ ” Will intoned with mock severity as he slid the colorful frosted drink across the counter. The Witches Brew frappuccino had been an impulse buy, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to torture Hannibal with the bright purple concoction. 

Hannibal brought the drink up to his nose for an experimental sniff. “I have been elbow deep in every imaginable type of human viscera, all of which were infinitely more pleasant than that monstrosity. I can smell the chemicals wafting off of it, citric and saccharine.”

Will barely held back a giggle, positively giddy at the torture he was inflicting on Hannibal. “Of course Witches Brew is gonna be a little vile. It’s got a pinch of toad’s breath, a dash of bat warts, and a sprinkle of lizard scale.”

“All of which I would rather consume than that cup of liquid regret.” Hannibal picked up the drink and inspected it closer. “The chia seeds are bloated and settling like gray sludge at the bottom of the cup. What a terribly stupid ingredient to include.” 

As Hannibal held the cup close to inspect the chia seeds, Will took advantage of his distraction to raise his phone and snap a picture of the frowning cannibal holding a bright purple frappuccino. 

“Double, double toil and trouble. Fire burn, and caldron bubble!” Will cackled as he dashed around to the other side of the kitchen island. He grinned wicked and defiant, cocking a mocking eyebrow in Hannibal’s direction.

“Will. Delete that this instant.” 

“Make me.” 

Hannibal leapt over the kitchen island as Will tore off through the house, dangerous predator in hot pursuit.


End file.
